


Tender

by sophinisba



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Drabble Sequence, M/M, Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-18
Updated: 2006-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophinisba/pseuds/sophinisba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sore muscles and what they mean; a series of eight drabbles taking place throughout the Quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tender

**Author's Note:**

> Mix of book and movie canon. The mystery character is reader's choice, so this could conceivably be a het fic, though I've marked it as slash and parts 1-6 are gen.

1.  
They set off from Crickhollow at daybreak, and Frodo can feel the restless night and the past days' walking with every stride the pony makes. Still, riding is easier than walking, and even in silence Merry and Pippin's unexpected company lightens his heart. It helps him imagine this is not the start of a long exile, but one more ramble through the Shire with dear friends. The pony quickens its step as Frodo flexes his calves; Frodo smiles, for the soreness is familiar from the first days of every such journey, and every other journey brought him safe home again.

2.  
The sixth morning after Weathertop, Frodo wonders if they'll ever see Rivendell, if it even exists at all. He's on a pony again, as on those first days, but the others are on foot and seem very far away. It is hard to see through his clouded vision, hard to perceive anything beyond the cold and pain in his own body. He hopes Strider will call a halt to their march soon, and perhaps take him down and rub more of that good, warm, sweet stuff into his wound. But he fears it will be long hours before they rest.

3.  
They've left the rest of the broken Fellowship on the other side of the river, and Frodo awakes at Sam's side feeling stiff. Surely, he thinks, after five months away from home his body should be accustomed to long days on foot, nights on hard ground. _This won't get any easier, will it, Sam?_ he murmurs, and winces as he twists his arm back to put on his pack. Sam doesn't speak but helps ease the strap over Frodo's shoulder, and his hand lingers, squeezing briefly, easing that knot next to his shoulder blade. Frodo stands and smiles his thanks.

4.  
With a last burst of effort he heaves himself onto the next ledge, and a shudder of pain rips through his whole body, followed by a shiver of disgust as his feels the clutch of Gollum's bony fingers through his cloak. Sméagol only means to sooth him, Frodo knows, but this creature is incapable of softness, generosity, or comfort. Frodo nearly cries out as the clammy cold skin touches his own neck. _Every day I'm more like him_, he thinks. _Soon there'll be naught left but skin and bone, aching muscle and gaping hunger._ He struggles up to his knees.

5.  
Frodo's body is nothing but pain, and yet he is barely aware of it. He collapses again, and Sam's words at his ear hold no meaning for him; Sam's hands kneading the muscles of Frodo's arms and legs have no effect. (Sam won't try to touch Frodo's shoulders or his neck, for Frodo always shoves the hands away if they come too close to the chain.) It is only when greedier hands close around his neck, when that angrier voice hisses, _Wicked masster_, that Frodo finds he has some strength left in him to fight, and to climb once more.

6.  
Frodo stretches cautiously on the pallet and cannot help but gasp at the pain, but he completes the movement anyway, glad to have control and sensation again. The twinge in his muscles reminds him of strong, gentle hands rubbing warm, fragrant oil over him as he lay here yesterday. The others told him not to move too quickly after so many days unconscious. But Frodo was too overjoyed to see all his friends alive and triumphant to care much for consequences. It's true, this morning he can feel the consequences quite plainly, but he is prepared to live with them.

7.  
They've brought ponies for the hobbits to ride back to Minas Tirith. Frodo hasn't ridden one in months, and he guesses there'll be some new aches tomorrow. Still, riding is better than walking, and each day seems to hold less pain than the last. _You're getting stronger_, his friends tell him, and he believes them. Being with them reminds him of those early days, when there was more hope than desperation, when the gravity of their task did not yet prohibit a secret smile, like the one he glimpsed this morning, or a desire to share more secrets come nightfall.

8.  
Frodo wakes, stretches, feels the sting in arms, arse, all over, and purposefully bends into it, wanting to feel it more. He moves to kiss the lover stirring at his side, and laughs to realize that even his tongue is sore. The morning's tenderness is the legacy of love like a wrestling match, interpenetrating flesh, wracking orgasms. The pain will also make a good excuse for a massage later -- not that they need one. For now, Frodo nestles into the warm embrace, and a thousand miles from the Shire, he knows he is safe in these arms, home again.


End file.
